


Roses in December

by starlurker



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-19
Updated: 2010-10-19
Packaged: 2017-10-12 18:55:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/127990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlurker/pseuds/starlurker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The risk of being the first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roses in December

_Eames wandered to the edge of the cliff, lost in thought. Arthur was beside him holding his hand and together they watched the sun set, which was partially hidden by thick grey clouds. He had invited Ariadne, Yusuf and Dominic to come, but they all said no with strange looks on their faces._

 _"I don't like being this close. It feels like I'm about to fall down," Arthur said._

 _"I'm right here," Eames said. "I wouldn't let you just fall, you know." He nuzzled that place on Arthur's neck that smelled the most like Arthur._

 _"But Mr. Saito said that we shouldn't go this far. He said it would be irresponsible." Arthur's grip tightened._

 _Eames felt that familiar thrill of thinking about not doing what Mr. Saito said. Arthur was too responsible for his own good sometimes, but that's probably why Mr. Saito sometimes gave him more things to do._

 _"You're right," Eames said. He heard some branches snapping and felt Arthur get even more tense, so he stepped back and waited. When they didn't come, Eames had to say something. "I know you guys are out there," he yelled._

 _"How did you know?" Ariadne asked._

 _"Because Yusuf's a loud idiot," Dominic said._

 _"I am not!" Yusuf said._

 _"Shut up," Arthur said._

 _Yusuf, Ariadne and Dom crowded around them. Eames noticed that all five of them still had paint underneath their fingernails. Spatters of blue and yellow and green and black and purple. Eames always hated the red._

***

One of the best extractors in the world was a woman named Arlene Gutierrez. Eames had worked with her in the past; she was a former military consultant with masters' degrees in political science and international relations. He never would have expected the threat she represented when he saw her the first time -- she was two inches shorter than he was but probably the same weight with a stone or two to spare. She didn't look like someone he would have taken seriously in this business, in addition to looking like she didn't know the business end of a gun. Most of the people he'd met in the dream extraction business seemed to have a certain look of lean efficiency, as if the effects of food were burned out due to stress and sleepless nights spent running from trouble. Clever Arlene though, even back then, already had a deceptive softness about her that she used to her ruthless advantage. No one who worked with her ever underestimated her again.

Arlene was smarter than all of them though, because she was one of the first to negotiate the first legal dream sharing system with the Dutch government. Her device was a stripped down PASIV, one with checks and balances that ensured people were only in their dreams for 30 minutes maximum. She even cleared a milder form of Somnacin as a patented drug. How she did it was still a secret, but no one was surprised that she managed to do it. In a matter of months after its legal dream sharing introduction, Amsterdam was just as famous for "the ultimate dream" as it was for its easy weed and legalized prostitution.

Getting a call from her was a surprise.

She arranged a meeting through some of the most clandestine methods that Eames had ever witnessed. After a truly labyrinthine process, Eames met her at a small patisserie and cafe in Paris. The waiter sniffed his disdain for Eames' order of tea but seemed to approve his request for a slice of the raspberry torte. He was midway through his snack when Arlene sat down across from him, dressed divinely in severe couture. She put her glasses on and smiled, which only made her look brittle.

"Arlene, a pleasure."

"Likewise," she said, clearly lying. She ordered croissants along with a strong coffee from the waiter. When her food was laid on the table, she took a loud slurp of her coffee.

"What's life like on the legal side of the trade?" Eames asked.

"Legal in one country is hardly legal overall," she said dryly, "but it's good. Lucrative."

"You've become soft then," Eames said.

"Mr. Eames," she said, her thin lips curled in a sneer, "the dream business only requires a sharp mind. I've let myself enjoy the money I make, and that includes the food."

"We can all die tomorrow and all that jazz?"

"Legality doesn't eliminate enemies. Life is short, no matter how long it may seem in a dream."

Eames raised his cup to concede to her point. "So is this job you need me for more on the legal side of things then?"

"Yes."

"Then surely you understand, pet," Eames said, noting the displeasure on her face with glee, "why I'm a bit hesitant to get tangled up in this one."

"I can double your pay, darling," she countered. "And you'd be a free agent with an escape clause. I'll turn my head discreetly away for 15 minutes once we all wake up."

"I'd bargain for more than that, love. If you're doubling my pay, then I can only guess as to what unholy blend the chemist involved in this job will inject in my veins."

Arlene leaned back. "Thirty minutes?"

He shrugged at her as he took a bite of torte. "It's not as if I've agreed to this endeavour, petal."

Arlene sighed. "You insist on living up to both reputation and stereotype, don't you, Mr. Eames?"

"And what do you know of my reputation, duckie?"

Arlene's face turned flinty, her expression turning sharp and angular. "I don't have time for your games, Mr. Eames. Either yes or no. You're not the only one in this business who can get results."

"But I'm the best, dear, and you know it," Eames said.

"Hardly," Arlene replied. "I just wanted this done subtly and discreetly, but I have other options at my disposal."

Eames raised an eyebrow. "Only forgers can forge, dumpling."

Arlene's smile was vicious. "You've been told you're the best at what you do for too long that you think only forgers can achieve specific results, Mr. Eames. How unexpectedly stupid of you." She opened her purse and retrieved far too many Euros. "I've lost my appetite. Send my regards to Cobb and Arthur, would you?"

He watched her walk to a black car, noticing the bulletproof and tinted windows, run-flat tires and armour. He finished his tea and walked back to his hotel. Arthur and Cobb had some explaining to do.

***

His phone had 13 missed calls when he got back to his room, all of them from Arthur ('King' Arthur, as his caller ID helpfully informed him).

"Why the fuck haven't you been answering?" was Arthur's wonderful welcome.

"Lovely to hear from you, too, Arthur. How is the weather in your part of the world? Frigid and desolate would be apropos."

"Ariadne's missing."

Eames felt gravity give way for a minute. Any of them missing after the Fischer job was not a comforting thing.

"Yusuf?"

"Still in Mombasa. Saito's in Kyoto and Cobb is still with his kids."

Relief, Eames felt, was one of nature's most unappreciated pleasures. Ariadne missing, while still a concern, wasn't a pattern.

"Eames, there were armed men in my apartment last night."

And there goes that, Eames thought. "Where are you now?"

"In the lobby of your hotel."

"Bloody buggery hell, Arthur. What were you waiting for?"

Arthur dripped condescension even over the phone. "I was checking to see if there was anything similar happening here first."

"Pardon my interest in your safety."

"I'll be up in a few minutes."

The knock came soon enough. Eames checked regardless and saw Arthur's forbidding face distorted through the peephole. Arthur went straight to the room to draw the curtains closed after Eames opened the door.

"Good to see you too, Arthur."

"Has anything strange happened to you in the past couple of weeks?"

Eames _hated_ Arthur's alleged professionalism, which was a thin mask of civility laid over a truly obnoxious sense of superiority in his opinion. But he had to admit that it was necessary in this particular instance, and he felt himself straighten, his mind focus on what truly mattered.

"Arlene Gutierrez and I just had a chat over a spot of tea before I called you back," Eames said. Arthur's resulting eyebrow raise was almost comical.

"Arlene called you?" he asked redundantly.

"That she did. Over a forging job which she refused to go into any great detail about, much to my frustration. Surely you don't think she has anything to do with this, do you? Not when her reputation is at stake."

"She's calling you for a job, Eames."

"She said it was legal."

Arthur crossed his arms and tapped an abstract rhythm with his left shoe. "Can I borrow your laptop?" he asked. "I haven't had time to go to my safe house in Madrid."

"Help yourself," Eames said. "The password is Arthur fancies me. No spaces in between." Arthur rolled his eyes and went to the desk with Eames' laptop.

"What's the password, Eames?"

"Upper case G, N, seven, zero, lower case O, upper case M."

Arthur looked at him suspiciously. "You just gave me your password."

"That's a computer for pleasure, Arthur. Nothing in there but movies and porn. Do stay away from the files named _Barely Legal Twinks_ if you want your virtue unsullied." Eames rolled his shoulders to relieve tension. "I'm going to the loo for a bit. No need to fear with Arthur on the scene, hmmm?" He raised an eyebrow, which Arthur met with an exasperated sigh.

"Just go and leave me in peace for as long as you can," Arthur said.

"Arthur, you're in my hotel room. Do remember some of your long ago lessons in civility." Eames slammed the bathroom door behind him. He looked at his reflection in the mirror.

For all the sense in accomplishment that the inception gave him, Eames hadn't lived the past year with any great sense of security. Being the first didn't bring distinction, it meant forgeries. Copies. In a field that thrived on subterfuge, on duplicity, he had known that it wouldn't be long before anyone with a sense of pride about the work they did would attempt the second and third and fiftieth inception. Saito himself had alerted them whenever he could be bothered to remember about IJobs -- "Are we bloody Steve Jobs?" Eames had bellowed when that nickname came about -- and predictably, all of their phones had started ringing, almost all of them with untraceable IDs.

"You can be the extractor in your own team," one of them had promised. "You'll never need to work again after this, and you can make your own team!" They'd made it sound like an archaeology dig. Eames had turned them all down. From what he can remember, Ariadne took on one more, Yusuf said yes to many, Arthur had done two while Cobb stuck to his retirement plans.

"Eames," Ariadne had said, "the Fischer job meant that I don't have to worry about paying for school and getting a job. This next job makes sure my kids won't have to worry about paying for school and getting a job."

"Never would have figured you for a mama bear, love."

"Distant, distant future," Ariadne replied, a devil-may-care gleam in her eye.

Eames washed his face and brought himself back to the present. He hoped Ari was well and unhurt, wherever she was.

His reverie was interrupted by the most unpleasant banging on the door. "Eames, get the hell out of there. We have to move! Yusuf was just taken in Mombasa."

Eames opened the door and stared at Arthur. "How?"

Arthur's mouth was a grim slash across clenched jaws. His eyes looked like flat stones. "I keep tabs on all of you," Arthur said. "And yes, I know it's creepy, but now's not the time or place."

Eames nodded. "And Cobb?"

"He's laying low for now. He's trying to contact Saito to see if he can help."

"And us? Flee as quickly as possible, I'm assuming?"

"Yes," Arthur said. "Grab your things. We travel light."

***

The taxi to Charles de Gaulle airport was a long, tedious drive, with both of them trying to do as many subtle checks on their tail without attracting undue attention. Eames felt the reassuring weight of his gun on his back and tried to calm himself down.

He should have figured that it was going too well when they were only a few kilometers from the airport. A glass partition went up between them and the taxi driver. He met Arthur's eyes and knew they had misjudged the severity of the situation badly, as horrible as it already was. The doors wouldn't open and the glass on the windows or on the barrier that separated them from the driver wouldn't shatter despite their strongest blows. The cab took a detour on one of the roads, and to Eames' horror, went into an empty container truck. He saw the driver step out and put barriers so that the car wouldn't move around as the truck was being driven, then saw him step out of the container to shut the door, but not before tossing a small canister that soon started hissing as it erupted with white smoke.

Before the last amount of light faded, he saw Arthur roll his dice. He felt for his own totem, a small, circular copper disk polished to a high, reflective sheen.

The danger of forging was that it was easy to sink into another identity, especially if it was an identity that he found attractive or appealing in some way. Eames has retired two forgeries from his repertoire. One was Elise, the other Zachary. Elise reminded him of his ex-fiancee Kalinda, the woman who introduced him to Indian food, gambling and the pleasures of being with more than one person in their bed. Zachary was a freeform creation that had drawn Arthur's attention on their first job together. Eames had recognized the interest in Arthur's eyes and took shameless advantage. To this day, Arthur didn't know.

In dreams, whenever Eames brought out his totem, it would reflect all his past forgeries but never his true face. He took the disk out now. As the last bit of light disappeared with the loud clank of the door being shut, he recognized his unshaven jawline, his tanned skin and his fearful eyes.

***

Eames was familiar with the long slide towards consciousness after being drugged. It was a crawl towards the light as every bit of mind and body resisted the motion because it wanted to rest instead. His body would feel any restrictions or freedoms, odd sources of warmth and tension as it regained its faculties.

He knew as he stumbled towards decent cognitive function that it would be unpleasant:

1) He was sitting down.  
2) His mouth was sealed with duct tape.  
3) His left hand was tied securely behind him. His right arm was strapped securely to a flat surface, a needle stuck in his vein.  
4) Both of his feet were tied to the chair's legs, which appeared sturdy.  
5) There were people walking about, at least two. One of them a man and the other a woman wearing high heels.

If escape was possible, Eames would have to kill.

When he opened his eyes, he felt his stomach sink. The first person he saw was Ariadne staring back at him, eyes filled with tears, her face with dark streaks of black all over her cheeks due to her mascara. Beside him, and to Ariadne's left was Yusuf, still unconscious but making muffled, whimpering sounds. To her right was Cobb with his head down. Eames looked over to his right and saw Arthur, who was already conscious and looked murderous. He met Eames' eyes and for a moment they softened and filled with so much regret, so much unexpressed feeling that Eames wanted a lifetime deciphering them.

"They're beginning to wake up." Arlene. When she walked into his view, Eames made sure to glare at her with as much hate as possible. She met his gaze with just as much loathing, and mouthed 'darling' to him.

"Good," the male voice said. Eames didn't want to look, but he recognized that voice. How could he not? His biggest job involved impersonating the voice's uncle. Robert Fischer stepped to where Eames could see soon enough.

"These are the people who...did inception on me?" Fischer said.

"Yes," Arlene replied.

Fischer looked at all of them, his eyes glassy with disbelief and horror. "What did you do to me?" he asked. He walked to Yusuf to slap him awake, then stopped right in front of Ariadne. Don't hit her, you son of a bitch, Eames thought. Fischer didn't, but felt no such compunction about Cobb, who received two blows to the face. Arthur was next, and after that, Eames got a few punches. In the midst of the hitting, Eames was slightly grateful that Fischer was a slight businessman who didn't work out frequently, or it would have been more painful.

"I've shown you in my labs how it can work," Arlene said. "You yourself said you recognized this man when we brought him in." She paused to gesture at Cobb. "You saw yourself who stepped in to try and protect him."

"Saito's too smart to be associating with common criminals like this," Fischer said.

"But he stepped in nevertheless," Arlene said coolly. "Or tried to, but we were ahead of him in this one."

"What did they do?" Fischer asked again, a helpless note in his voice.

"They introduced an idea in your head. I cannot probe deeply enough to know, but the idea wasn't your own."

Fischer ran his hands through his hair. "This is unbelievable."

"Mr. Fischer, in a most wonderful bit of irony, their chemist, on top of crafting the sedative that coursed through your veins, is also responsible for many other compounds. One of them is a revolutionary serum he has perfected, among his many achievements. His work with sodium amytal would be groundbreaking, if it didn't violate international treaties regarding torture. That same serum is in them right now."

Fischer sighed. "So they have no choice but to tell the truth."

Arlene's smile was victorious. Eames' heart sank, and when he looked around, he saw everyone's expressions fill with despair. He looked at Arthur last, and he wanted to reach out to that anguished expression desperately. Arthur's eyes were lovely, Eames thought distantly, with all the reserve stripped out of them.

***

The truth came out in all its dirty ugliness, Fischer's bit of redemption ruined, burned to the ground like ancient, pillaged cities. Eames could do nothing and watched his life flash before his eyes. His parents, his sister. His two pet dogs from when he was a child. Kalinda. Mallorie. Yusuf. Ariadne and Cobb. Arthur.

"You realize why I had to come to you, Mr. Fischer," Arlene said.

"Yes," Fischer said, dazed.

"The implications of what they've done. That's why it must be stopped, as discreetly and as harshly as possible. What is to stop others in the dream business from going to warlords to convince them that waging war is the way to go? Who can stop them from tipping those who have prejudices to take action based on their beliefs?" Arlene looked at all of them with hatred that Eames had never seen before. Now that her victory was in hand, she was beginning to lose her reserve, her belief in her ideals spilling into the cracks and filling her with fury. None of them could refute her, not with their mouths duct taped again. Eames thought, in his heart of hearts, that none of them could really debate her claims with any efficacy, not when they all knew what it was they were embarking on when they all willingly said yes to invading Fischer's mind.

"What do you intend to do?" Fischer asked.

"Erasure," Arlene said calmly. Eames rocked in his chair, trying to tip it over with no effect. He saw the others do the same, Ariadne before him being the most desperate.

"Kill them?" Fischer asked. "I won't do that."

"There are...alterations," Arlene said, "that we can make. The PASIV device can be used to plant a new idea. Erasing something that already exists," she paused here to take a deep breath, "is more manageable."

"That doesn't take care of Saito," Fischer said.

Arlene smiled. "You have the resources to keep him in check, Mr. Fischer." And Eames knew all was lost when Fischer nodded.

Eames looked around and tried to commit all of them to memory and not have the sight before him be his last memory of them. Yusuf's good spirits, his unflagging enthusiasm for his work. Ariadne's passion for structure and form. Cobb's single minded devotion to his children, his unending love for his wife. Arthur's dependability, his incredible depth of knowledge and expertise.

He heard Cobb's heartbreaking sobs -- after everything he'd done, to lose his children in this way -- Eames couldn't fathom it. Yusuf was babbling through the duct tape, begging, pleading. Ariadne was crying quietly and met Eames's eyes as she wept. Arthur's expression had evened out onto fatalistic acceptance when Eames glanced at him.

Throughout all this time, Eames was still hoping that Saito would somehow launch a rescue plan. That hope died, and Eames couldn't bear to listen anymore, he couldn't bear to look at any of the others. For the final time, he thought, for the final time as yourself, meet your fate squarely with your back unbowed, with as little fear as possible. He raised his head and met Arlene's eyes.

"Say goodbye, gentlemen. And lady," Arlene said. "You'll remember nothing of this at all."

THE END


End file.
